


Four Late Night Confessions (+ one mutual "I Love you")

by Banashee



Series: 65 Random Prompts [28]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Late Night Conversations, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safehouses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: Sometimes, Clint and Phil have late night conversations where they confess things. It takes them years to confess their love though.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: 65 Random Prompts [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606429
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Four Late Night Confessions (+ one mutual "I Love you")

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt list thingy with my dear friend @banana_ink.  
> Full prompt list can be found here:  
> https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/190342596571/65-random-writing-prompts

**Four Late Night Confessions (+ one mutual "I Love you")**

1)

For all the trouble Clint has gone through in the last 20 years, getting an opportunity like this is pretty much the chance of his life. Even if he wasn't running out of luck and chances, he'd have taken it. Sure, Clint had been shot at and bleeding profusely when they offered him to work for SHIELD and start a new life, but even then, dizzy and in pain, not to mention half-starved and exhausted from months on the street, he'd known it might be his best - maybe only - chance. 

Now, one year later, Clint is stuck in a safehouse in the middle of nowhere. It's late at night, and he spends two hours tossing and turning on the thin, lumpy mattress before he gives up and kicks away the sheets. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Clint groans in annoyance and rubs a hand over his face, through his already messy hair and back over his face. Letting out a long breath, he remains sitting there for a short while, then he finally makes his way out to the living room.

The howling wind from outside creeps in, settles in his bones and makes Clint shiver in the cool air. He regrets not having put on a hoodie or socks, but he is also too stubborn to walk back now. 

To his surprise, the light in the small living room is on, and when he enters the room, his handler has made himself comfortable on the couch with a thick book in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. The room smells of coffee, and even though Clint shuffles in quietly, Phil looks up from his book as soon as he does.

“Oh, hi. Can’t sleep?”

“Hey Boss. Not really, no.”

“There is more coffee in the kitchen, if you want any.”

It’s nice to be known, Clint thinks, and makes his way across the room to go get himself a mug. There is no way he is going to sleep tonight, anyway.

“Thanks.”

On his way back to the couch, Clint pulls a book out of the shelf and he doesn’t really look at what it is. For one, he’s not sure he will be able to focus on the story. He also never had the opportunity to read a lot when he was young, which means he doesn’t know a lot about books to begin with. 

So, he just reads whatever he can get his hands on - thankfully, SHIELD safehouses often have a small selection of books, if only because some agents left whatever they finished behind for the next person to enjoy. Over time, Clint figures out what he likes - so far, he knows that he enjoys most fantasy and sci-fi books, and that dramas bore him to tears. He tries to stay away from those, but is otherwise open to pretty much anything. 

As it turns out, he grabbed a cheesy romance novel this time - oh well. As long as it keeps him occupied, he figures it’ll be fine. 

Except, it isn’t fine. Well, the book is. But Clint is not. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop thinking. His brain is running wild and he can’t stop thinking how he even got here. The mean voice in the back of his head keeps telling him that he doesn’t deserve to be here, doesn’t deserve to have this job. This chance.

_ ‘You should have died years ago.’  _ it snarls at him sometimes, in the middle of the night when he lies awake and can’t calm down. The thing is, as hard as he works and as much as he is terrified of making a mistake and losing it all, Clint is also happy. 

He’s got a purpose in life, 3 meals a day and a warm place to sleep. He’s got a room on base to get back to. Sparse and impersonal as it is, it is still a home to him. 

There are people who actually give a shit if he lives or dies, which is honestly still new to Clint. Especially since he started working with Phil exclusively, he has learned what it is like to have someone who cares on a personal level. His handler is a very rare combination of competent badass, warm, honest, caring and protective. 

It is this mix of characteristics that made Clint like and respect the older agent from day 1, and it is definitely this combination of characteristics, paired with the fact that Phil is easy to talk to and that they spend a lot of time together, on and off the clock, that caused Clint to develop a huge crush on him in no time. But he’s got a lid on it - he has to. There is no way he can lose what he found. 

Without noticing, Clint has been staring at the same book page for about half an hour now and he’s got no idea what even happened in the plot. Also, his coffee has gotten cold by now. He curses under his breath and puts his book down in frustration. 

_ ‘So much for calming down’ _ he thinks and resists the urge to toss the book across the room. As much as he wants to do something like this sometimes, he hates useless violence, even when it doesn’t go against people. 

The short fuse he inherited from his father is unfortunate, but Clint actively tries to work against it. Anything that separates him from his old man is a good thing in Clint’s opinion - it’s enough that he looks like  _ he _ did. There is no way he’ll allow himself to develop the same patterns of behavior.

The book in his hand, cramped in white-knuckled, is shaking. 

“...Clint? What’s wrong?” 

He didn’t even realize that Phil stopped reading and is right in front of him now, without touching, but close enough to easily do so if it should be welcome. 

It takes Clint a while to find the words for what is happening, and he isn’t even sure if it makes any sense. After minutes of total silence, and Phil looking more and more concerned the more time passes, Clint lets out a long breath of air. 

“Since I joined… I’ve never been so happy. I’ve also never been so scared. I just - I don’t want to mess this up.”

He doesn’t look at Phil when he says this, already embarrassed as soon as the words leave his mouth, but he knows that his handler - his friend - won’t judge him for it. 

  
  


2) 

The constant noise and vibrations of the jet feel like a jackhammer in Clint’s brain. He wishes, not for the first time, that he was physically able to screw off his head and several limbs for the duration of the entire flight, store them somewhere soft, quiet and comfortable and then reassemble himself upon landing. No such luck.

He doesn’t even manage to sleep, even though he knows it’ll be many hours until they arrive back at base and there is plenty of time for a long nap. Clint turns in his seat to bitch about it to Phil, but the older agent looks tense and gravely as he puts his phone away in his suit jacket. 

The words get stuck in Clint’s throat, and instead of saying anything, he watches as Phil steps closer and sits down heavily in the seat next to him. 

He almost asks “Are you okay?” but he doesn’t - he knows the obvious answer is “no” because their OP went wrong in so many ways, it’s a near miracle they’re both only lightly injured - let alone alive. The same cannot be said for the dead civilians. 

Clint knows, before Phil even says anything, that he is feeling responsible for it. And really, after a few minutes of silence, Phil sighs with a shake of his head and tells Clint,

“I fucked up. I’m sorry.” 

In reality, there was nothing they could have done - the intel had been wrong from the start, and there had been no way they could have known until it was too late. 

But Phil is running this OP, he is responsible for the calls made and the outcome will be on his head. It is a special kind of guilt, one that is hard to live with, even though he’d had to learn it early on in his career. Coping is an entirely different story.

Right now, he is devastated. Agent Coulson is shoved back somewhere in the back of his head, while Phil, the human being, is trying to deal with it all.

Clint doesn’t answer verbally, because he knows all of these things, but he scoots a little bit closer until their shoulders are pressed together. He offers company and comfort, resting his hand on his leg, open and palm up. It doesn’t take long for Phil to take it and Clint can feel the slight tremors running through him. He squeezes, just firm enough to be reassuring, but otherwise gentle. 

Neither of them talks for the rest of the flight.

  
  
  


3)

He is a sniper. Not exclusively, since he’s got plenty of useful skills, but the matter of fact is that, occasionally, part of Clint’s job is to kill people. 

He is good at it, because he never misses. And this is why Clint is so careful, always reading and re-reading the mission briefings, picking the plan apart with Phil again and again until he knows every single detail by heart.

If he takes the shot, he knows it will be a kill shot - no questions there. So he wants to make sure that the necessity to rid the world of another human being outweighs all other morals. 

Usually, this takes a special kind of training and coping techniques. It’s not an easy or comfortable job, but Clint can usually deal with it because he knows that the people who end up in his scope do so for a very good reason. Usually, he doesn’t lose sleep over it, because he knows the circumstances and the backgrounds.

He never enjoys it - he would be wrong in his position if he did. But if pressed, he would admit to being relieved - in some cases even satisfied - to know that certain individuals are no longer around to hurt people. 

Sometimes, there is no kill order in place. In those cases, Clint takes the shot because he knows it’ll be either one of his fellow agents, an innocent person or himself who will be going home in a body bag if not the person he takes out. It happens.

The point is, while it is certainly no walk in the park, Clint can cope with these situations.

Right now though, he is kneeling on cold tiles, head stuck in a toilet while he throws up whatever he managed to choke down earlier. In his head, there are two main thoughts that are at war with each other, screaming at him and each other, leaving Clint shaking and disgusted with himself.

The thing is, they didn’t know that the weapon smugglers ran a human trafficking ring as well. They didn’t know, not until they entered the other part of the building and were met with the terrified eyes of a few dozen people who had learned to expect the worst whenever the door opened. 

Clint is choking and coughing, clutching the cold porcelain with shaking hands. He knows that this OP ended up pressing all the wrong buttons for him. Too many things that hit just a little too close to home, too much that makes him think back to - no.

In the warehouse, Clint can't remember a clear thought, he acts out of pure instinct. Things turn into a blur at some point, and all he knows it that he somehow freed all the people who were hurt by those fucking bastards, and then…

A kind way to put it would be that Clint went on a rampage. By the end of it, none of the traffickers is left alive, and he doesn’t feel a smidge of guilt about it.

After the fact, as much as he wants to say that they deserve it, Clint is terrified that this OP broke something in him. What if he crossed a line? What if there is no turning back?

Another wave of bile raises up his throat and he spits and coughs until there is nothing left anymore. 

He is completely out of it, and he doesn’t even realize that the bathroom door is opening. It is only when Phil is next to him, rubbing small circles into his back that he catches on to the fact that he’s got company. It doesn’t stop him from shaking apart. 

“I killed 15 men today.” he chokes out, not even looking up. His gaze is blurry and cast downward.

“I killed 15 men to protect the people they hurt. But I didn’t feel anything while I did it.” And this is the part that terrifies him most. 

Clint doesn’t regret what he did, but he is afraid of his own reaction - or lack thereof - in the situation itself.

Adrenaline is one hell of a drug, he knows this. Clint is no stranger to getting things done and dealing with the feelings and the aftermath later, but this mission was an extreme situation, and frankly, he is way too shaken up now to think clearly. 

Breathing is incredibly hard, and moments later, Clint finds himself falling apart.

_ ‘That’s a new low. Sobbing into a toilet bowl while being drenched in unspeakable things after a complete clusterfuck of an OP’ _ the mean voice in his head is sneering at him, but even now, Phil doesn’t leave his side. He keeps touching Clint, gentle and in an attempt to comfort, but he remains silent. That’s okay though. What do you even say after a day like this? It’s not like either of them knows a certain answer. 

It comes to no surprise that Clint is on mandatory leave after this, and that’s how it is until the shrinks and Director Fury say otherwise. 

  
  
  


4)

Phil has blood on his hands. 

Not physically, at least not anymore - he is freshly showered and is wearing standard issue clothes while he is waiting next to the hospital bed for Clint to wake up. 

Just a few hours before, he’d been soaked in blood that wasn’t his own, desperately holding onto the man currently unconscious, hoping he’d survive long enough for help to arrive. 

There had been some time in between - well. Phil is fast.

Right now, he is trying to keep his breathing carefully even, staring downwards and in front of him. He is carefully holding Clint’s pale and limp hand in his - there are scrapes and bruises, both from his time in the hellhole and from the IV line. Without even realizing it, his thumb is slowly stroking the cold palm of the other man’s hand. 

Phil would be lying if he claimed that he wasn’t - isn’t - utterly terrified of losing Clint. The two of them have known each other for many years, have worked together for almost as long. They know each other, care about one another, certainly more than is strictly professional. And maybe - just maybe… Phil doesn’t dare get his hopes up. 

Truth be told, right now he only wishes for Clint to wake up again, anything else can wait. 

Phil has had a lot of time to think, in the past few years in general, what with them being what they are. Then, he found his asset and best friend missing, which led him to tear the country apart to find him again. And he did, weeks after his disappearance. 

He finds Clint in an empty warehouse, tied to the ceiling in nothing but stained, ripped underwear. He had been unconscious at the time, pale and way too skinny, beaten bloody and with limbs that look twisted and broken. 

Thankfully, Clint is safe now, and it looks like he is slowly waking up. At first, he starts stirring, eyes still closed but twitching. His hand in Phil’s is twitching weakly and the beeping of his heart monitor speeds up, but all of this tells Phil that he is alive - Clint being alive is all he wants right now. Softly, he squeezes his hand again and then says,

“Clint, you’re safe. Please wake up.” 

His hand is twitching again, but this time, his eyes are fluttering open. Clint’s breath is shallow and erratic as he is blinking against the dimmed lights in the room. He is panicking, which sadly doesn’t surprise Phil. He knows that waking up in a panic happens to Clint more often than not, even when he isn’t coming back to himself in a hospital bed after a no doubt horrifying experience. 

It is in the middle of the night, not that Clint would have any sense of time right now. 

Carefully, Phil squeezes his hand and tells Clint again that he is safe, repeating himself over and over until his wandering gaze stops and his heartbeat is slowing down a bit. His eyes settle on Phil, and Clint smiles weakly at him. Even though his face is a swollen, black and blue mess, the relief is obvious.

“Hi.”

Even with this short word, Clint’s voice is breaking and almost non-existent. Talking hurts - he gratefully accepts the straw from the waterglass that Phil is offering him.

“Hey. Try not to talk, okay? You’re safe and I’ll be right here. You’ll be okay.” he promises, and it seems to ease a little bit of tension in Clint. He nods, indicating that he understood, but he is way too exhausted for anything else. He drifts back to sleep, holding the other man’s hand as tightly as he can manage in his sorry state. Phil squeezes back, and brushes a bit of hair away from his forehead with soft fingers. Clint is almost entirely asleep, but he still leans into the touch.

It’s when he can manage to stay awake for longer than 5 minutes that they talk a little bit. Clint listens to his list of injuries and scheduled surgeries with an almost stony face, but Phil knows him well enough to be able to tell that he is scared. Scared of losing his ability to shoot, losing his ability to be “useful” and therefore, losing everything he’s worked and fought hard for in the last decade. 

Even after so many years, Clint still seems to think so little of himself. It makes Phil want to go back in time and murder a few people.

“What about - them?” Clint asks one night, and it is clear that he wanted to ask this for a while.

“I took care of it - they won’t hurt you again. Or anyone else, for that matter.” Phil tells him, and it is the truth. It was messy, no doubt - but he would do it again. For Clint, he would do anything. 

“...Did you-?”

“Yes.”

Mutely, Clint nods. He doesn’t ask any more questions, mainly because he trusts Phil and doesn’t need any details, but also because he isn’t sure if there even is a proper response for this. Instead, he leans close against Phil, who wraps an protective arm around him while Clint is falling asleep once again.

  
  
  


+1)

“I was scared it would be too late.” Phil tells Clint quietly, and shifts a little closer to him. 

They’re still in the small room in SHIELD medical, and although Clint is getting better, they still don’t want him to leave yet. He gets more and more frustrated and even more cranky every single day, and Phil is trying his best to be there as much as possible. He knows why Clint hates medical, and he can hardly blame him for it. Too many bad past experiences.

“Me, too.” Clint confesses, and sighs unhappily. He’ll have a lot to work through, but for now, he mainly wants to get out of here.

“While I was there… I kept thinking, I never even told you that - uhm. That I love you. Because I love you, Phil. I love you a lot.” 

Phil is speechless, but he smiles at Clint, surprised but utterly happy to hear this. It makes his heart beat so fast, he is glad that he isn’t the one currently hooked up to machines. They would go crazy, no doubt.

“I didn’t want to die before you know that.” Clint continues, and Phil tightens the hug around him - he’d started to lay down next to Clint while he is stuck in the hospital, offering warmth and comfort, and it very much looks like he made the right call. Clint leans into him while Phil tries to find the right words.

“I don’t want you to die at all. Because I love you, too - so much.”

He can feel Clint smile against him before he hugs back just as tightly as Phil hugs him right now. He wishes he could touch him, hold onto him properly, but his arms are still in casts and bandages, so he’ll have to wait for a little while longer. But Phil is here, with him, and that is all he really needs right now. 

“Our timing is fucking awful, you do realize that, right?”

The statement is so very Clint, not just because of it’s incredibly dry delivery, and it actually startles a laugh out of Phil.

“Well, yes, that’s one way of putting it. Better now than later, though… I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, but…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Instead, he leans forward, fully intending to cuddle closer to Clint, but the archer goes for a kiss instead. His lips are dry and chapped, but he is warm and alive in Phil’s arms, and that is all that counts. 

The kiss surprises Phil a bit, but it’s certainly not unwelcome. He kisses back, slow and gentle, letting Clint decide how much he wants right now, not just because he is afraid of accidentally hurting him. He would have let him take the initiative in any other case, too, and there are plenty of reasons for it.

“Fuck, I really want to get out of here.” Clint says later, and Phil presses a small kiss against his temple while he makes himself comfortable against his shoulder.

“I know - soon.”

Clint leans into the touch and hums happily when Phil scratches his scalp with blunt nails.

“Until then, I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

+~

19 - Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> \- hints at Clint's shitty upbringing  
> \- implied/references child abuse  
> \- blood and violence  
> \- talk about death and killing  
> \- mental health issues  
> \- vomiting  
> \- human trafficking (not graphic but still upsetting)  
> \- hospitals


End file.
